Back Story
by Socket-52
Summary: After Carol's presumed death, Daryl reflects on their relationship.


**Timeline:** Hounded

 **Back Story**

He makes a mental list because he needs to because he's afraid he'll forget. It keeps him sane. Keeps her close.

He shuts his eyes and remembers the hum of the motorbike, the feel of her behind him; her hands firm, pressed against his chest; her warmth against his back. He liked it, felt invincible; like he could protect her when they were entwined like this. He couldn't give her Sophia back but he could keep her safe.

He'd never had a passenger before; she was the first. She was his first in so many things.

* * *

Daryl gazes out of the window. He can't believe she's gone.

Hills and glades roll past the window, becoming a blur. He remembers cold, bitter winter nights. Sleeping in the car because houses were unsafe.

As they lay in the boot, the back seat pushed down to give them space, he gazed at Carol; her eyes closed, lost in sleep, her hands tucked under her cheek. Her nose twitched and her eyelids flickered. She looked so innocent.

A smile tugs at Daryl's lips; she always found new ways to touch him, to surprise him - small, intricate ways that half the time she wasn't aware of.

It was December and there was a chill in the air. He reached out and pulled the scratchy woollen blanket over Carol's shoulders, tucking it under her chin. His hand lingered over her hip and came to rest on her waist. His thumb just below her ribcage. He felt her breath in and out, so gently, so peacefully.

Daryl liked it. It felt so intimate. He fell asleep with her gentle breath in his face.

* * *

He was back in reality. Back in a world without her. Maggie and Glenn are on the backseat muttering something about Judith and Daryl's mind flickers back to the first time Carol saved his ass.

He heard his name at the same time as he felt her hands press into his back, thrusting him forward with surprising force. He hit the ground and turned to see a walker gnashing at him. Carol put herself between them, her knife drawn. She held it above her shoulder, grabbed the walker's shirt with her left hand and plunging the knife into its skull.

A spray of blood covered her as the walker gurgled and groaned before collapsing to its knees and fell to the ground - dead.

She turned to Daryl, her eyes shining with triumph and in that moment, he felt winded.

Instinctively he smiled. She held out her hand, he took it and she helped him to his feet. He looked down at the walker.

Damn she's good at wielding a knife. He gazed at her; cheeks flushed from exertion and adrenaline rush. She was luminescent and blood specked.

He took the rag from his back pocket and closed the distance between them. He cupped her chin; lifting her face and gently wiped the blood from her skin.

He held her gaze as he ran the cloth down her neck. She was breathless as his fingers grazed the skin of her collar bone.

He felt an intense burning in his chest, a desert had taken residence in his mouth and a self-consciousness overtook him.

"Got it all?" she asked playfully.

He's not sure if she's teasing him - he's no good at judging that stuff.

"Mm-hm," he mumbled, tucking the rag back into his pocket and trying not to think about her lips pressed against his.

* * *

The car pulls into the prison. Michonne glances at him in the rearview mirror and Daryl thinks back to his last fight with Carol.

He'd grabbed Carol's arm and yanked her out of the pharmacy and dragged her away from the herd. He hauled her halfway down the street before letting go.

Once they reached safety, she glared at him. "We have to go back!" she shouted - angry that she'd dropped the baby formula they needed for Lori.

She headed back towards the pharmacy. Daryl gripped her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She tried to shake him off but he wouldn't let go.

"I don't need babying," she snapped.

"Then stop being a hot-head! Sure way to get yourself killed."

She almost laughed - he could see it in her eyes. Her amusement at being told by Daryl Dixon not to lose her temper.

He hated it when she laughed at him.

"Lori needs that baby formula," Carol stated.

"And we need you alive," he retorted.

She stopped struggling. Seemed to calm down.

He let her go and she rubbed her wrist.

"Fine. You tell Lori why we came home empty-handed," Carol barked and walked towards the car.

Daryl sighed. Damned woman always had to go putting other people first - it made her stupid - prone to taking risks and he was getting fed-up of worrying about her. It was a full time job.

* * *

Daryl remained in the passenger seat and Rick leaned against the open window. "Everything okay?" he asked but could instantly see it wasn't.

He knew Daryl spent a lot of time by the graves. By her grave. Knew Daryl always brought back a Cherokee rose whenever he went out on a run. Like it was his penance.

Rick wished he could say something, wished he could take the pain away. Instead, he watched Daryl cross the field on his daily pilgrim to Carol's grave.

Daryl knelt before the cross that marked her makeshift grave. He smiled because he always smiled when he thought of her.

It had always been them. Everyone in the group had family or a lover still alive... and they'd just drifted together. Daryl and Carol. Everyone expected it, no one thought about it. Even them. It was a natural fit.

And now, she was the piece of him he wished he didn't need. He'd got used to her.

If he could, he would take back this love, exchange it for something useful, something he could wield.

This loss is relentless. She fuels him, drains him. Daryl's heart leaks and she is not here to fix him. She is not here and his heart breaks. Again.


End file.
